Cities We Call Home
by frustratedstudent
Summary: In the aftermath of the biggest disasters of 2013, Eponine still hangs on to the hope that someone will be home for the holidays.


_A/N: I don't own Les Miserables, or any of the characters. I just like to imagine how they would make a certain city epic. _

**Cities We Call Home**

"Four hundred."

"That is still too expensive for a blouse; I could get _two_ of these in that other stall around the corner. Three hundred."

"Three hundred fifty pesos. Last price."

"Alright then."

The shirt seller managed a smile as he quickly pocketed the slightly grimy bills that the young woman handed over to him and then handed over a knitted lavender blouse. "Who is that blouse for?"

"My sister," Eponine replied as she folded up the garment and then carefully placed it in a large plastic sack full of other clothes, toys, art supplies, and a number of other knick-knacks. '_One less thing I need to get on this side of town,' _she thought as she sneaked a quick glimpse at her watch. It was already seven in the evening, almost far too late to be shopping in the district of Binondo, but this was the best that Eponine could manage after a long day of work. '_Better to stay out now than tomorrow or next week,' _she reminded herself as she shouldered her oversized shopping bag.

She scowled as she fanned herself with her green t-shirt, almost sure that her clothes were soaked through not just with her own perspiration but even the general heat and mugginess of the crowd also trying to finish up Christmas shopping. In fact the air was almost too thick to breathe, more so with the oppressive heat that still lingered over the city despite the fact that it was already night time. Eponine cursed as she twisted and pushed her way through the crowd, all the while keeping a lookout for any hands that would try to grab at the pockets of her jeans in hopes of acquiring her cell phone or what little cash she had brought. For the most part it was the same story every year: the same rush throughout the street fairs and bargain stores, the same consumption just a few feet away from where beggars and thieves lurked, and the same Christmas carols looping to become their own form of auditory torture for weary shoppers. It was all that she could do not to cringe as a loudspeaker began to blare out these lyrics: '_I don't want a lot for Christmas, there's just one thing I need-' _

"Miss! Handicrafts here, proceeds for Typhoon Yolanda victims!"

Eponine had to stand on tiptoe to get a good look at the middle-aged woman sitting next to a rickety table piled high with colourful rattan baskets embellished with shards of mother-of-pearl, delicate silk flowers, and felt birds. Next to this display was a tarpaulin banner emblazoned with a collage of pictures depicting flattened houses, people fleeing from a wall of water, and evacuees gathered around makeshift shelters pitched amid a muddy landscape.

"Miss, the smaller baskets are only one hundred pesos," the seller said more insistently. "Or would you want something else?"

Eponine shrugged as she pointed to some of the pictures in the collage, resting her hand on one showing people by a broken bridge. "Did you get these from the Internet?"

"Yes, where else?" the vendor replied, a little taken aback by this query. She gave Eponine a bleary-eyed but curious look. "Why, were you the one who took it?"

She shook her head. "No. I know the photographer though."

"Oh? Journalist, or with the government?"

"No, he's with an NGO."

"Ah, how long has he been down in Tacloban?"

Eponine bit her lip, wishing she didn't have to name an actual number. Instead she said, "He hasn't just been in Tacloban. He's been to other places too."

The woman sighed sympathetically. "So busy then! But is he coming home for Christmas?"

Eponine managed a nod as she looked over the baskets before deciding on one that would look good on Jehan's coffee table. Normally her partner was very good at keeping his word; in fact he had the best track record among their friends and acquaintances, but there were just a few times wherein circumstances and others' needs seriously tested his ability to follow through. '_It can't be helped in a year like this though,' _she reminded herself as she handed over a little money for her purchase before finally making her way out of the maze of stalls, back towards the rather more spacious main street.

Now that she was in a less crowded place, Eponine finally fished her phone out of her pocket. She shook her head on seeing that she had two missed calls, one from Azelma and the other from Courfeyrac. After a moment she decided to call up Courfeyrac first, knowing that he was more likely to pick up immediately. "Courf, where did all of you wander off to?" she asked loudly, hoping to make herself heard over the clatter of cutlery on the other end of the line.

"We're all here at TD, on Ongpin Street. Azelma has tried to call you too," Courfeyrac replied.

"TD?"

"Tasty Dumpling."

Eponine bit her lip on hearing the name of this restaurant at the far end of this famed market street. While she was in not really in the mood for Chinese food that night, she had to admit that the place was still very much within her budget. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'm still on the wrong side of the road."

"You're still at the bazaar?" Courfeyrac asked incredulously.

"Yes, and I'm actually _through_ shopping. Told you it would pay off," Eponine said. She smirked on hearing the dramatic groans and complaining from Courfeyrac and the rest of their friends. "See you in a little bit," she added before hanging up and quickly pocketing the phone, taking care to untuck her shirt over her pockets in order to further deter any would be thieves.

As she walked down a narrow lane that she knew to be a shortcut to Ongpin Street, she noted how the shop fronts and houses seemed just a little less well lit, or a little more bereft of the usual festive decor. The numbers of beggars and vagrants had not increased significantly, at least to her rough reckoning, however there was a definite change in the manners of the shoppers and businessmen who frequented the area. Haggling was a little terse, some people laughed wryly, and now and then she could hear people complaining how they were no longer getting as much for several hundred pesos. It was a little unnerving to see how the austerity that had so marked the latter half of the year had begun to creep in even on this bustling district.

Yet despite all of this, people still managed to sing Christmas carols. Eponine nearly bumped into a troop of children dashing from house to house, carrying makeshift tambourines made out of the tops of soda bottles. These little ones were singing at the top of their lungs, '_Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!', _mispronouncing the lyrics such that 'a' sometimes sounded like 'o' and 'the' sounded like 'da'. Further up the street, just outside the entrance of the Tasty Dumpling restaurant, there was someone crooning on karaoke, '_Oh I won't ask for much this Christmas, I won't even wish for snow-' _

"I really don't get why they sing about snow here in the Philippines," a gruff voice cut in from nearby.

Eponine coughed as she waved away an acrid cloud of cigarette smoke. "Since when were you such a Grinch, Grantaire?"

Grantaire chuckled as he ground out his cigarette with the heel of his sneaker. "That's cruel."

"Then leave the song alone."

"I only meant that if it would snow here, it wouldn't be a pretty white powder but something very wet and disagreeable."

"Maybe even deadly," Eponine said, noticing a toddler running by dressed in little else but a thin undershirt and oversized shorts, joining a gang of older but similarly clad youngsters on the steps of a church, where they had set up the stub of a flickering candle. Just looking at them was enough to make her shiver, knowing that the temperature could easily drop later that night and prove to be even more brutal than the heat.

She rubbed her arms as she followed Grantaire into the crowded restaurant. The odors of sesame oil, garlic, and ginger, made far more overwhelming by the heat from the kitchen, assailed her nostrils as she slid her way between tables and chairs to reach the booth where Courfeyrac was seated with Azelma, Prouvaire, Joly, and Musichetta. All of them were laughing at something that Courfeyrac was gleefully scrolling through on his phone.

"Another picture?" Eponine asked as she found a seat next to her sister.

Azelma had to drink down a large gulp of water before she could speak. "Eponine, did you know your mascara was running while we were at Villamor?"

Eponine shook her head. "That was the least of my worries," she said as she peered at a picture of them as well as Enjolras, Combeferre, Feuilly, Bossuet, and Bahorel, standing outside large tents pitched on the side of an airfield. Some yards away were some planes dropping off yet another group of refugees from the towns that had been hardest hit by the typhoon. '_That was the last time we all worked together,' _she thought, noticing now how Combeferre and Joly still had stethoscopes around their necks, while the rest of them had bottles of water and sacks of relief goods.

"I didn't think we'd end up doing a shift there; we were only supposed to drop off donations!" Musichetta said as she fanned herself. "Thank goodness we have a social worker in training here, in addition to our favourite medical students," she added, giving Eponine a warm smile as she handed over a plate of stir fried noodles.

"I thought I was your _only_ favourite med student," Joly pouted.

Musichetta scratched his head affectionately. "You're my favourite of all favourites."

Eponine shrugged at this overly affectionate display. "I would have stayed even if you guys had to go elsewhere. Everyone from my masters' class had to volunteer at some point."

"I don't know how you, Joly, and Combeferre manage. How can you guys sit still in one place having to listen to each and every refugee that came in?" Azelma asked.

"You train for it," Eponine and Joly deadpanned.

Courfeyrac cracked his knuckles. "I would have taken that over what I had to do. I didn't think I'd end up driving seven people all the way out of the city-"

"Navotas is still within the city limits, Courf," Prouvaire pointed out.

"It didn't _feel_ like it," Courfeyrac groused.

As the rest of the group began reminiscing and bantering about what else had happened when they'd volunteered at the Villamor airbase, Eponine began counting out on her fingers the days that had passed since that time. '_That was November 10, so it's been forty days since then,' _she realized. That night in Villamor still stood out so clearly in her mind; till now she could still see the faces of the people she'd counselled and hear their plaintive stories, but the memory of the following days was even more clouded than the soy sauce she was now putting on her food. It couldn't be helped; as the days went by the relief operations had grown more diffuse and in some ways convoluted. After some time many of her friends tapered their involvement to sourcing supplies for relief and rehabilitation, but she and a few others were lucky enough to be more involved. Enjolras had been in the south for more than a month now, doing rehabilitation work in some of the more far-flung communities. Joly had been lucky to be involved in a medical mission near the provincial capital. As for Eponine herself, she was still following up on some of the refugees they'd assisted; some of them were hoping to return home, while a good many were intent on starting over in the metropolis. '_Easier said than done,' _she thought, as she looked at her callused and hardened hands.

"Ponine, do you know when Enjolras is coming back to Manila?" she heard Prouvaire cut in.

"He said 'soon'; it's not easy to get flights out of there, and besides he was sent out to check on another remote town," Eponine replied. "But if he isn't here by Christmas Eve..."

A collective 'ooh' rippled around the table. "Grovelling time," Grantaire laughed.

"I warned him the last time when I saw him, during that mission I was on," Joly chimed in. "Though to be fair, I was lucky to even see him at all; he was only in Tacloban that day to get supplies and make use of a place with a generator so he could use his phone and send _someone_ some pictures to post," he said, giving Eponine a teasing look.

"Not entirely my fault we're running the same blog," Eponine said.

"Didn't you guys have dinner together before he left for yet another town?" Musichetta asked Joly.

Joly nodded. "This was the time that some kid threw a rock into the glass door of the diner we were in."

"A rock through the _what_?" Azelma sputtered.

"You haven't heard this one yet?" Joly asked. "Well then, picture your typical canteen: tables, long metal benches, the counter with everything and then of course the glass door. My team was just in for dinner since we were billeted just above that diner, and it just so happened that Enjolras and a few of his team mates were there too for a quick dinner. So anyway we got talking and then suddenly there was this kid who came running up with a big rock-"

Azelma winced. "And then?"

"Thank whatever God there is for quick reflexes," Joly said as he stirred the ice in his glass.

"You guys ever find out why he or she did it?" Prouvaire asked worriedly.

"No motive, at least according to the police. "

Grantaire elbowed Eponine. "Hey Miss Psych graduate, what do you think?"

Eponine paused, both to swallow a mouthful of noodles as well as to figure out her answer. "Desperation makes people do funny things," she finally said. It was the only way she could phrase it, after all she'd seen over these weeks of working with refugees. _'Is it still that way wherever Enjolras is?_' she wondered as she finished her dinner.

In a literal sense, she did know where he was, since every night he would send a text about the intended agenda for the next day's work. Nevertheless the fact still remained that he was so far away, witnessing a struggle that no one really knew how to win. Eponine bit her lip as she pondered this; would these past forty days dampen his optimism and fire, like what had happened to so many others? It was a horrifying thought to contemplate, enough for Eponine to shudder even as she brought out her wallet to help foot the bill.

After this, the entire group rushed to the nearest train station on Carriedo Steet, arriving there just before the last train pulled into the station. "Can't they put anything else on a loop?" Grantaire griped, pointing to the loudspeaker still blasting '_All I Want For Christmas'_ at full volume.

"Well it's a song about not wishing for snow," Eponine pointed out.

'_I just want you for my own, more than you would ever know. Make my wish come true, because baby all I want for Christmas is you_,' Courfeyrac, Azelma, Musichetta, and Prouvaire sang, up until Courfeyrac's falsetto earned them the glares of other commuters. "You have to admit the song is cute," Courfeyrac said.

"And ironic, given the times," Grantaire said. "You know how many families would want that in a literal sense, given everything that has happened this year?"

Eponine and Azelma exchanged knowing looks. "You mean it happens every year," Azelma said a little acridly to Grantaire. "Typhoon or not."

"That's life-" Grantaire argued before Prouvaire elbowed him. "Why so touchy now?" the older man griped.

"You know already," Eponine said as the train finally arrived. She knew better than to bring up bittersweet memories, of her father jokingly serenading her mother with this very song, back when they still had a home to deck with Christmas lights. Yet as they boarded the train, she found her thoughts drifting away from memory, and more towards the present; she could always count on her companions to pull her back to where she was needed. She managed a smile as the train creaked its way out of the station. From where she stood near the window she had a perfect view of the Christmas lanterns shining by the dark river leading just a few miles away to the ocean, of stars on each lamppost lining the old bridges, and large Nativity scenes on the fronts of edifices. Regardless of the grit of day, there was still some beautiful melancholy in this city at night. '_Enough to rest at least, till morning,' _she thought. Every day was always new, in this city that was both old and yet young.

It was almost ten in the evening by the time their train pulled into the Pedro Gil station, less than half a kilometer away from the apartment complexes where they, as well as Enjolras, Combeferre, and Bossuet had been staying for the past year and a half. Although the hour was late, Eponine willed herself to ignore the weight of the keys to the apartment she shared with Enjolras, and instead she headed down to the Advo-Café, a small establishment just two blocks away from the station. Much to her relief there were no Christmas carols here, but just the comforting hum of conversation mingled with the clatter of cutlery and punctuated with the voices of the barista shouting out orders.

Eponine immediately ordered a large mug of black coffee and retreated to her favorite corner, near the front veranda of the café. She carefully stashed her sack of purchases under the table and then waited for a few minutes for her drink to cool. Only then did she take a cautious sip, and then another heartier one, enjoying the deep potent flavor on her tongue .As she set down her mug, she caught sight of a flash of gold in the crowd milling about outside the café. '_Just the light,_' she thought as she rubbed her eyes. She blinked again and this time she stifled her laughter with a hand over her mouth. She would know him anywhere, no matter how gaunt he was from lack of sleep and days of hard work.

She reached for her phone and searched for his number. "Hey Enjolras. Having another late night?" she drawled, ducking her head so she wouldn't be seen too easily.

"Ah, Eponine. Yes, it's sort of a late night," Enjolras greeted, his normally clear voice a little raspy with fatigue. He had his back to the café as he looked out on the street, and therefore it was unlikely he had any clue as to their actual proximity. He was still shouldering the ratty duffel bag she'd helped him pack thirty-eight days ago, an hour before he'd flown down south. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"I had Christmas shopping to do. Besides it's not even eleven, and it is a Friday night," she replied lightly. She sighed as she heard him yawn even as she watched him look around the street. "Long day?"

"Yeah. Moved around a lot."

"Okay I'll be nice since you're so tired. If you turn around now-"

"What?" Enjolras asked, now finally looking in the direction of the café. His eyes widened with shock before he ended the call and then pocketed his phone. In a few moments he was beside her on the veranda. "That was cheeky, Eponine," he said.

"It woke you up," she quipped, quickly getting to her feet so she could hug him, not minding if he still smelled of sweat, exhaust, and a myriad of other things that several hours of travel could bring. She sighed contentedly as she felt his arms around her, right where they should have been all this while. "When did you get in?"

"An hour or so ago. I would have been here earlier if not for a stopover," he said sheepishly before giving her an awkward kiss on the top of her head.

"Can't be helped," Eponine said as she let go of him. She expected him to sit next to her but instead he began searching through his duffel bag. "You actually managed to go shopping too?" she kidded him.

"The stopover was for three hours." He smiled a little guiltily as he placed a packet of wrapped butterscotch pastry squares in her hands. "I hope you still like these."

She laughed as she opened the pack of the pastries, more so when she felt the familiar stickiness on her fingers. Clearly he'd taken his time to choose the best, sweetest pack in the bunch. "Your timing is perfect; this is just what I need for the coffee."

"I know it reminds you of home."

"You mean better times at a house I used to know." She passed her mug over to him. "I think you need it more than I do."

Enjolras took a sip of the drink. "Sorry for coming home so late; it's already December 20 and-"

Eponine shook her head and touched her fingers to his lips, feeling his smile under her hand. "It's okay. I was always sure that you would come through."


End file.
